COD: What Else Was Happening?
by Gvsz
Summary: Today, COD is an immensely popular game, with engaging and well-written storylines. But wha else was happening in the world of COD. Comedic moments. Dramatic moments. With this story, we can see what else was happening in the world of our favourite video game franchise.


COD: Missing Scenes

Give Me Prisoner #627

**Hello, Reader(s.) This is an idea that came to me a while ago. Basically, I was thinking about small moments in the COD series that could have been happening behind the scenes of the games. I already have several ideas, but for now, here's just one. Enjoy.**

_Inner Circle P.O.W camp No# 22, 30 Miles East of Patropavlosk, Russia_

_16:43:27, Thursday 11__th__, November 2013_

Makarov walked down the cold, dark hallways of the centuries-old building, the vastness contributing to the eerie silence. He never particularly enjoyed coming to the P.O.W. camps, leaving his second in command, Alexei Petrov, in charge, but this time, he had a good reason to visit this godforsaken place. He passed through the surveillance room, the occupants saluting him as he walked past. He barely acknowledged them, too immersed in the joy, yet simultaneously anger, crossing his mind. He was here. _He _was here. A man Makarov had waited to meet for two long years.

Just ahead of Makarov, a man stood waiting. "Makarov, Sir. It is a privilege to see you again." Makarov smiled, ever so slightly. "Of course, Alexei, it is always nice to see a trustworthy face." They turned the corner and walked down the several flights of stairs. "Is Yuri here?" Alexei questioned. A slight look of disapproval flashed across Makarov's face. "No. He is currently in the middle of a meeting. He sends his regards, however. Has the Prisoner been resisting?" "Not quite," Alexei said, "He has been talking back to us, but no actual resistance." The two men continued down the stairs in silence, eventually reaching the last floor. The corridor ahead had several semi-circular cells on its right, and a crowd of about a dozen men. They immediately saluted Makarov once they saw him. "Yes, Yes, I do not have time for that," he said, annoyed, before turning to one of the guards. "Give me Prisoner #627," he said, saying the last part with a trace of spite in his voice. The guard nodded and disappeared down the corridor. After five minutes, he returned, with a shackled man in tow. The man had a bag over his head, baggy, torn clothes and the very way he walked suggested malnourishment and torture.

An intense feeling of anger went through Makarov like an electric bolt. "Put him in here," he said, gesturing to the cell to his right. The guard complied, opening the door and shoving the prisoner inside. The man fell to the floor, attempting to get back up. The guard took his baton and swung his arm back to hit the man, but before he could land the blow, something grabbed hold of the baton. Looking up, the guard saw the thing was Makarov's hand. "No," he said sternly, "Do not beat this one. Leave him with me." The guard, who looked frustrated over not being able to beat a prisoner, nevertheless regained his composure, saluted Makarov one last time, and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Makarov grabbed hold of a shackle attached to the wall, and attached it to the shackles on the prisoner, leaving the man immobilised. Makarov tore the bag off the off the man's head, revealing a middle-aged man, somewhere in his mid-forties, with a thick beard and a balding buzz cut. Unable to restrain himself any longer, Makarov punched the man in the face, sending the prisoner sprawling across the floor. "Hello there, Captain Price," Makarov said, "I've wanted to meet you for a while now." Captain Price looked at Makarov, a black eye quickly forming across his face. "Vladimir Makarov. A pleasure to meet you," He said sarcastically, his Cockney accent contrasting with Makarov's Russian one. Makarov nodded slightly, before punching Price in the face again, sending the Englishman back to the ground. Makarov quickly followed up by kicking him in the stomach, leaving Price wheezing for breath. A demented smile flashed across Makarov's face. "You do not know how long I've wanted to do that," he said. "I've dreamt of having you here, helpless, bound, and I've fantasised about how to deal with you. I've considered whether to kill you here and now, but then I thought, where would the fun in that be?"

Price, having recovered from the beating, looked up at Makarov. "Explain to me what I've done to you, will you? You're just a terrorist who does anything as long as he gets paid. You don't give a shit about anything else, least of all me" A look of amusement flashed across Makarov's face. "Yes, you would think that, but you've been gullible. So has the whole world. I have a goal. But the goal is not one that your country would agree with. So, with a few seemingly random terrorist attacks, attention is diverted, allowing my true goals to be preformed in peace." Price looked up at the Makarov, confused. "And you're bothering to tell me this?" "They say to keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. To do that, you must get to know them. Beside, I really think you should know why you're here."

Makarov got up and began to slowly pace the room. "The western world calls themselves liberators and freedom fighters, but it's not. Yes, they may get rid of a tyrannical dictator, but immediately after, they occupy the country and convert it into one of their own. You don't believe me? Japan after WW2. America immediately went in and made it their puppet state. It's always the same. And then you did the same to my country. I realised that when I was discharged from the military. They said I violated the army's moral code, but then I realised it was _America's_ moral code. My country had allowed such things to happen when it was strong and just. Russia had become another American-controlled state. And the leaders: Putin, Medvedev, they were corrupt men who were able to come to power because our country was a weakened puppet state. However, then the Ultranationalists emerged, led by Imran Zakhaev. They were to free our country from the grasp of America, and let us modernise _our way!_ Let us once again give our country the power the Soviet Union had. It was all going so well. Zakhaev was helping our country emerge." Makarov then looked at Price with disdain. "But then you murdered him. Our party broke up and Boris Vorchesky took power. He is a hypocrite and a coward, and his Russia is no different from the Russia of before. And it all rests on your shoulders."

Price looked up at Makarov. "I didn't kill Zakhaev. You need to get your facts right. It was a member of my team." Makarov looked down at Price with curiosity. "Who?" He questioned. Price smiled, amused. "You'll never know. I'll die before I'll talk." For a moment, it looked like Makarov was more than willing to follow Price's schedule, but he then got control of himself. "Very well. But I'm afraid that doesn't really change anything. The man was in your command, so it is still your fault. And that means I can still do this." Makarov delivered a crushing blow to Price's stomach, sending the former Captain to the ground again. "You'll be calling this place home for the foreseeable future, where you'll learn the nature of your mistakes."

Price looked up and scoffed in Makarov's face. "I don't regret a single thing," he said. "Zakhaev was a psychopath stuck in the past. The world's a better place without him." For his remark, Price received Makarov's shoe to his stomach. "Zakhaev was a great man who was to restore our country to its former glory," Makarov said, "and for failing to realise that, you will be rotting in here until you go to hell." "Unlikely," Price retorted, "but if it happens, I'll be sure to say hello to Zakhaev." Makarov, enraged, lifted Price up, pinned him to the wall, and began punching him in the stomach. Makarov felt he could simply not give this man the pain he deserved, so kept on punching Price until the former Captain had nearly passed out. At that moment, Makarov dropped him. "You're likely I didn't kill you, you arrogant piz da. You'll be seeing more from me, and you'll get this every time until you learn about your mistakes." With that Makarov got up and left the room, leaving a barely conscious Price on the floor.

"Makarov, what is wrong?" Snapping out of his rage, Makarov saw Alexei and several guards in front of him. "Nothing, my friend. All is well." Makarov turned to the guards. "The following orders are not to be ignored or altered. Give Prisoner #627 a meal once a day. If he asks for water, give him it. Put him to work with the other miners. Only beat him when absolutely necessary. Do NOT kill him or put him in a critical state. That is my privilege only. Is that understood?" "Yes, Makarov," the guards said. With that Makarov left for the exit, leaving this godforsaken place, and Price, to rot.

**Well, there you have it. I've had this little idea floating in my head for a while now, where Makarov came to visit Price in the gulag. This won't be a one-shot. I'll be planning to make a whole load of these. It'll be from both normal COD and zombies. Also, I'll take suggestions, but they have to be able to fit into canon; no AU. Anyway, please review, and hopefully, see you soon.**


End file.
